Big Brother
by namedthingsyouthrowback
Summary: Iceland doesn't know why Norway insists on being called Big Brother, but he refuses, because he's silently sure the reason can't be good. But Norway hears him call Denmark 'brother,' and the problem explodes into the open.
1. Chapter 1

That low, soft drawl seemed so unfitting. People expected a short, sharp voice, cold and military and a little young, just like his appearance. And usually that's just about what they got. The drawl was for the Nordics and the Nordics alone. And when he talked to Iceland, he let it slip and drop even more to add a little softness, a little gravel to the slow, steady tones.

Norway's not a pushover. He's not in the EU and he stays out of most European politics, being fairly self-reliant and unwilling to be dragged down in Euro mess, so people sometimes forget he was once the Viking king of the north and the only nation Denmark's ever really been afraid of. But Norway, the man, is just as physically strong as he ever was and there's a reason besides Denmark's axe that France has never seriously pursued the Nordics, and that all it takes is one raised blond brow to break up Greece and Turkey's brawls (no-one knows exactly what the story behind that is, but Iceland remembers what happened to England so long ago, and can guess). In his dark days Denmark used to hit Sweden and Finland if they got too loud. Little Iceland used to cry during thunderstorms and after bad dreams and Denmark only raised his hand once, Norway flying from the shadows to seize his wrist in midair with an iron grip and his pale eyes wide in fury. Denmark disappeared for a few days and didn't touch Iceland for a hundred years or so. He was still wary even in giving him hugs.

So Iceland knew Norway cared about him, and he knew Norway was strong. Which is why Norway should have been the ideal big brother. But he kept pushing it; insisting and prodding and making him feel like a fool. Iceland had been around long enough to be realistic and cynical. No-one pushed like that without a really good reason. There was a catch, like with doting Spain and ChibiRomano's inheritance. He told Denmark this once, and the man just laughed, slinging an arm around his shoulders and musing, still chortling, that truth always came from the mouths of children. Iceland coldly pointed out that he wasn't a child, and the matter dropped in favour of arguing.

/

The eruption was bad. Iceland lay sweaty and feverish in his tangled sheets, his breath gasping from the ash in his lungs and his bones aching as his land strained at the seams. Norway sat with him, holding cold compresses to his brow and leaning the weak island nation against his chest to drink cup after cup of an herbal tea that relaxed his coughing and eased the burning in his skin. Just like when he was young, except that now he had the added stinging pain of the rest of the world blaming him for their inconveniences.

'Shhh,' Norway murmured as he coughed hard enough for his ribs to hurt and buried his face miserably in his damp pillow. The older blond gently rubbed his back. 'It's alright, Big Brother's here. Iceland? You can hear me, right? Norway. You know who's with you, don't you? Big Brother. Your Big Brother's taking care of you now.'

Iceland just cried tears of frustration as Norway's persistent hands kneaded the tensed muscles along his spine.

The other Nordics visited as often as they could- for Finland, a crazy daredevil of a pilot, this was nearly every day; for Sweden, once on the fourth day. Norway simply stayed, sleeping in the chair next to his bed. Denmark made it to his house a week after the first blast.

'Iceland!' he cried as soon as he threw open the door, charging up the stairs with heavy boots. Norway's shouts of annoyance carried up from the kitchen. Denmark strode into Iceland's room, shrugging off his coat and casting it onto the chair in one movement. He dropped to his knees at the side of the bed, his hands everywhere at once- stroking a flushed, hollowed cheek, checking his fever, rearranging the blankets, petting his hair. 'There's my Icey,' he cooed. 'How's my brave spitfire lillebror doing?'

Iceland cracked a smile through dry, chapped lips. 'Hey, brother,' he murmured hoarsely. But not quietly, apparently, because suddenly there was Norway at the door holding a steaming cup, his face even paler than Iceland's sickly pallor and his mouth open to match wide eyes. He looked- not like Iceland had expected, not disgusted that Denmark was still there, not angry that Iceland had called the Dane 'brother' yet still refused to call him so- he looked, Iceland thought, horrified. And broken, like something in his eyes had shattered.

'I made another brew of tea,' he said finally, and in an almost-normal voice, but his eyes still looked wrong and his hand trembled slightly as he set the cup on the nightstand. His lips were pursed, as though he were afraid of what he might say. 'You should drink some every few hours to keep the cough down.' Then he walked out, and Iceland didn't see him for three weeks.

/

He was well enough to get out of the house, finally. Denmark had stayed to nurse him through the last vestiges of ash and flame, Finland coming by often to help cook and do laundry as he still sweated heavily in the nights. But they'd both gone home for good a few days before, and now that Iceland was feeling better, he sent a thank you note to Finland- who was surprisingly awkward with presents, given that he was Santa- and made a tray of cinnamon buns for Denmark, who loved sweet presents above all. There was still ash in the air but he made it to Copenhagen with little trouble and was soon on Denmark's front step in a friendly, trendy quarter of the city. Iceland knocked on the bright red door. No one answered, but the door was unlocked, so he went in, kicking his shoes off under the entry hallways' long, narrow bench Denmark himself had carved almost a century before. He wondered vaguely where Denmark could be...until the shouting started.

'Look, I don't know what the fuck you're so upset about, but-'

_Smash._

'Hey, what the fuck do you-'

'Never _ever_ speak about him like that again!'

_Crash._

That was Norway's voice. And Denmark. Flashbacks of the Kalmar Union ran through Iceland's mind as he raced to the sitting room and through the open door. Norway had Denmark pinned up against the broken glass doors of a wall cabinet, one hand tight around his throat and the other gripping his shirt. Denmark had little cuts along his face and neck, probably from the glass, and was pushing fiercely, but futilely, at the smaller blond's shoulders. They both looked furious. 'Hey!' Iceland yelled. 'What the hell is going on?'

Norway dropped the taller Nordic and whirled round to face him, a shocked expression taking over the previous rage. Denmark stumbled forward, a little shower of broken glass tinkling to the floor. 'Iceland, this is not a good time,' he grated. 'I'm glad you're feeling better, lillebror, but why don't you just head to a bar or something and I'll see you in a little while, ok?' He rubbed his throat and stretched up, arching his back with a pained look.

Iceland was staring at Norway. 'Noregur?' he asked, uncertainly. 'What's going on?'

Norway stared back at him for a second, then turned away, shaking his head. 'Nothing that concerns you, Ísland. You don't need to go. I'm leaving.'

Denmark laughed harshly. 'And you're trying to find the difference between me and you? Right there, buddy! You won't even fight a _little_ for him-'

'Shut up!' Norway snapped, and shoved the Dane back against the wall. He spun on his heel and made to push past Iceland to the door, but Iceland grabbed his arm.

'Noregur, what's going on? Denmark was just talking about me so you can't say I have nothing to do with it!'

'Let go, Iceland,' Norway growled sternly, his already low voice dropping to an unfamiliarly cold sneer.

'You use that voice with other people. Never with me,' Iceland muttered. 'Why are you both so angry? What happened?'

'Nothing happened, Ice,' Denmark sighed, wincing as he pulled himself away from the wall. 'Norge here just doesn't know how to tell you that he-'

'I said _shut up_!' Norway yelled over him, and would have punched him again if Iceland hadn't still been hanging onto his sleeve. 'You already won, ok? Just shut up!'

'You fucking idiot,' Denmark snarled, getting within inches of the other man so that he was nearly spitting in his face. 'Just how blind are you? Who do you think he cried for every night when you were gone, huh? Who did he always crawl over to when he got hurt or scared? Who's he clinging on to right now?'

There was a long moment of silence where Iceland tried desperately to make sense of what had just been said and Norway slowly turned his head to stare at him, as though only just noticing he was there.

'No,' he murmured lowly. 'I had him then. You have him now.'

'What, just because he calls me 'brother' and not you?' Denmark laughed again. 'You ever ask him _why_ he won't? Eh, Norge?'

'Is that what this is all about?' Iceland asked, incredulous. He dropped Norway's sleeve. 'Seriously? I can't believe you two. I'm out of here.' He turned and headed for the door.

'Wait, Icey!'

'Ísland.'

He turned and raised an eyebrow. 'Yes?'

Both Norway and Denmark stepped forward. They shared a look, then Denmark continued on to sweep Iceland up in his usual over-exuberant hug. 'Don't worry, lillebror. Nobody's upset with you. We're just being idiots, ok? Like usual. Norge'll fix it now.' He set Iceland down, smiling, and ran his fingers through the white-blond hair. 'Just give him chance, ok?' Denmark gave one last bright smile, then stretched his arms over his head so that his spine gave audible cracks. 'Ouch. And now I'm gonna take a long, hot shower. Don't leave, ok?' He patted Iceland's back, glared significantly at Norway, and strode out, bounding loudly up the stairs.

There was an awkward silence in the sitting room then, both Iceland and Norway staring at each other blankly. Norway sighed and sat down, staring at the coffee table. Iceland couldn't take it. 'Why do you want me to call you Big Brother so badly?' he blurted.

/

Norway took a minute of silence before he spoke. 'You were with Denmark for so long. I couldn't visit you, send you anything, Sweden told me after a while that you'd have forgotten my language so even if you'd grown old enough to read on your own I couldn't write to you. He said you'd have forgotten _me_. And then I finally saw you again after so many years and you were so cold, standing there under Denmark's arm staring at me like we'd never met before. Then you just walked away, following him like a lost puppy...' Norway suddenly choked, tears overspilling his eyes as he dropped his head in his hands. 'And all I could see was the little boy who followed _me_ around like that, the little boy I survived Sweden's rule for, and he wasn't there anymore...'

Iceland stared as Norway wept openly into his hands. His throat was stuck shut but he didn't know what he'd say even if he could.

'You'd always been mine before. I found you, I brought you home, Denmark helped raise you and you slept between us every night but your first little running steps were towards me, not him. You always came crying to me when you tripped and fell, you always looked at me when Denmark offered you a sweet, you always cried more when _I_ had to go out and left you with _him_. I protected you from him when he went dark, I waited for you all those years with dreams of you clinging on to my legs, giggling and asking for your big brother to pick you up...and when I finally could have you again, you were already _his_!'

Iceland felt everything click into place. 'You wanted me to call you big brother to prove that I'm yours instead of his?' He could...actually understand that, a little. Thanks to their harsh, often barren lands all the Nordic nations could be dangerously possessive, and lonely. 'You didn't want to give me up to Denmark.'

'No, I didn't,' Norway said, the tears thick in his voice. 'But I couldn't stop it- I always thought I had a chance, though,' and suddenly he was looking up at Iceland with bright, desperate eyes, 'I thought, if I could just hear you say it, I'd know you were still in there somewhere, still the little brother I left behind. You kept refusing and I thought maybe that part of you was just broken somehow. But then you said it to _him_,' Norway spat bitterly. 'We were fighting because I asked him what he'd done to you, how he'd made you hate me-'

'I don't hate you!' cried Iceland, shocked. How had things gotten so badly turned around? 'I...was scared of you - of what you wanted. It didn't make sense to me.'

'That's what Denmark said. That anyone would think I was some kind of _monster_, forcing myself on my little brother, scaring him, _preying _on him.' Everything in Norway's voice and manner betrayed the deep disgust and loathing. 'He said he could understand it, a sweet, innocent little thing like you.'

Iceland remembered the words he had walked into. He shivered. It was all so _wrong_. Norway wasn't supposed to be weak, Sweden wasn't supposed to be cruel, Denmark wasn't supposed to be the only one who understood.

'Ísland.' Norway jumped to his feet and grabbed Iceland's shoulders, gripping him tightly. 'You're not afraid of me, right? You know I'd never hurt you? I'll move Heaven and Hell for you, little brother, but I'll never hurt you.'

Iceland dropped his eyes to the floor. Norway was so close he could smell the salt of his tears. His hands clutched him tightly like he was afraid the boy would be stolen away again if he let go. 'I know,' he muttered. Norway was strong. If he said he would do it, he could. 'I'm not scared of you anymore.'

The hands held on a little tighter. Norway leaned forward so that their cheeks were pressed together, Iceland's pale hair catching on the white Nordic Cross and his ear at Norway's mouth. 'And you're still my little brother, right? I haven't lost you?'

Iceland hesitated and nodded, dumbly. Norway sighed, his breath tickling Iceland's throat. He had an odd, sudden flash of a much bigger Norway holding him up, both laughing, and planting wet, tickling kisses all over his happily flailing arms and legs.

'Say it for me, just once,' Norway breathed, tucking his face into Iceland's hair. 'Come on. _Please_?'

That low, soft, gravelled tone. The one reserved just for him.

'Ísland.'

'Big brother.'

_'Ísland_.' Norway wrapped his arms around the boy, holding him tight to his chest.

'Big brother,' Iceland murmured, and Norway shuddered like he was trying to repress more sobs. 'It's alright, big brother,' Iceland sighed, and returned the hug loosely. Norway just held his little brother tight for the first time in a century.

/

'Hey, Islanti, Norja!' Finland trilled, sliding into the chair next to Iceland with Sweden in tow, carrying their beers. From Iceland's other side, Norway waved hello.

'Danm'rk n't h're?' Sweden asked.

'Not yet,' Iceland started to mumble through his own beer glass, but at that moment the door of the bar flew open to admit the beaming Dane.

'Hey, boys!' he yelled. 'How's it going?' He dropped heavily into the seat opposite Iceland. 'Hey lillebror, whose round is it?'

Iceland glanced to his right. 'Yours, I think, isn't it, big brother?'

Sweden, in an uncharacteristic shock of emotion, spat out his drink. Denmark did a double take. 'Whoa. I thought you guys snuck out of my house because you were still fighting! Not cool, by the way. I guess you boys made up, huh?'

Iceland and Norway traded looks. 'I don't know,' Iceland said finally. 'I think big brother still wants to hurt you.'

Denmark laughed loudly. 'Well, that's okay! I mean, you're both _my_ little bros. It's allowed.' He reached over the table and roughly ruffled both their hair.

A second later, he was on the floor with two sturdy boots planted firmly on his back. Iceland and Norway sat back down and picked up their drinks in unison, Norway giving Iceland a secret little proud smile as he gently fingercombed the paler blond strands back into place. Iceland hid his own smile behind his glass. Things weren't perfect yet, but they would be. Norway could make it so.


	2. Epilogue

Iceland clutched his pillow, glaring at the hall floor. He _wanted_ to go in, but...

'What freaks,' he muttered.

'Hey kid, are ya going in or what?' Mr Puffin squawked, digging his claws into Iceland's shoulder.

'Iceland, where the hell are you!' an annoying voice yelled from the lounge.

'Coming, Danmörk,' he sighed, and pushed open the door, shuffling inside.

'Aww, Icey, you're so cute! I knew those would look great on you!' Denmark laughed.

Iceland flushed. He should've known that Denmark had an ulterior motive when he insisted so strongly on this movie night. Sweden and Finland had managed to skive off, but he hadn't and now he stood awkwardly in Denmark's warm, comfortable lounge, wearing a yellow pyjama tee and shorts with little cartoon puffins on them. Norway sat stony-faced on one end of the big squashy red sofa, his matching pyjamas blue with happy dancing trolls. Denmark sprawled on the other end, his own (full-length, because apparently Denmark deemed only himself old enough for adult nightwear) red pyjamas decorated with little Danish beer bottles.

'C'mere, come sit with your awesome big bro of the supercool fashion empire and we'll get this party started!' he yelled excitedly, patting the small space left on the sofa between he and Norway. Iceland's lips twitched in distaste. Denmark didn't notice, but Norway did, and he raised an eye brow as his eyes warmed slightly- his version of a laugh. Iceland glowered, and shuffled forward, still clutching his pillow and considering his options, eyeing the narrow sliver of free cushion- then in one flying leap he lunged into Norway's lap, his head curling into the bigger blond's shoulder and his feet swinging over the man's legs to meet Denmark's on the cushions. Norway's arms instantly came around him, as though automatic, and when he chanced an embarrassed glance up Iceland found that Norway's expression was one of wonder while Denmark looked surprised, and pleased. When he caught Iceland looking, though, he adopted a wounded face.

'Aww, Icey, that hurts, lillebror! Why won't you sit with me, too?' He tickled the bottom of Iceland's feet with his toes, yelping when the boy kicked out.

'Just start the damn movie,' Iceland mumbled, tucking himself into Norway's chest. Denmark tossed a throw blanket at them and grumbled about pissy little brats as he sat up and fumbled with the tv and dvd remotes. Norway arranged the blanket over his occupied lap and settled back into the sofa, his arms relaxing to rest comfortably heavy around his little brother as the lights were switched off and the title music swelled up from the speakers. Iceland huffed but smiled a little and twined his cold toes with a smugly satisfied Denmark's as Norway's chest jostled him gently with silent laughter.


End file.
